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Caverns of the Heart
Maybe
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Rating: PG-13/R
Pairings: Elrond/Gil-galad; Elladan/Glorfindel
Summary: An old picture has an unexpected affect on Elrond and leads Elladan to wonder about the skeletons in the closets of Imladris.

Notes:1) The Fall of Gil-galad is found in LOTR.
2) 'Celedhel' means - I hope - 'Silver elf'


Part 1

"Who is this, Papa?"

The afternoon was cold, ice still crystalizing the surfaces of the marbled buildings and holding the river in its thrall. A weak sun was shivering between the clouds, blurred and as insubstantial as a water soaked picture. Pale rays made token gestures at melting the ice on the long stretch of bare grass that made up the valley between the hanging falls and the sculpted rock sides, but had not the strength to do more than turn it to shimmering drops of water.

Elrond was sat at his desk, bent over a rather concerning report about an unexpected Orc attack on one of the further borders. It had been terminated but awoke in him a sensation of disquiet in it solitary and apparently unprecedented occurrence. Glorfindel was looking over his shoulder, his lips puckered with tension lines as he scanned the report for himself. The twins, who were supposed to be making at least some attempt to become acquainted with their father's mammoth task in the day to day running of Imladris, were in actual fact, perambulating the room poking around in his possessions.

Elrohir had already managed to over-turn an entire stack of books, which had dominoed, sending a pile of unread scrolls cascading across the floor. Glorfindel had been busy re-rolling them before Elrond had called for his opinion. Elrohir, having abandoned the books, was fiddling around with the lock on a small mithril box. Given the content of the box it could be seen as unwise that Elrohir was being allowed to touch it at all, and Celebrían, when she had entered briefly to locate the twins for her own peace of mind, had stared at her husband in astonishment. Elrond, however, was not in the least bit concerned. The box held Vilya, one of the three rings of power. Elrond's apparent oblivion to Elrohir's antics was partly out of mild surprise that his son had managed to locate it and also because he was absolutely certain that there was no way for Elrohir to get it open. On principal he was not about to let his sons forgo their lesson, but he was currently too occupied to teach them and Elrohir's distraction was not necessarily a bad thing if he didn't want to spend the next Ea trying to put his study back together again.

Elladan was sat on the window seat, gazing out across the valley and flipping through Glorfindel's sketches. His tutor and lover was a fine artist, often capturing scenes of import for the records of Imladris. He also tended to sketch random moments of domesticity for the simple pleasure of his art. Glorfindel glanced up at the sound of his lover's voice, slightly puzzled by the question. His sketchbook had survived several ages it was true, but there were few portraits within it whose faces Elladan should not know - whether they were of historical import or merely acquaintances of the family.

"Which, Elladan?" Elrond said, without looking up, tapping Glorfindel's elbow to direct his gaze back to a passage with undisguised irritation. Glorfindel hurriedly complied; realising as he did so that his Lord's annoyance was not directed his way.

"...I have reason to believe that the border patrols from Imladris are not giving adequate time to their task or, if they are not at fault then it is the messengers who are not communicating with those of Mirkwood. I must in short suggest that this matter be taken up with the Lord of Imladris himself, whereupon the blame must at its source lie..." Glorfindel read aloud to himself. He lifted his head and exchanged glances with Elrond, clicking his tongue sympathetically. "Ah, it is as well that you were informed of this, I suppose," he said with an effort, though his instinct was to fly to his Lord's defence. They had only received word of the breaching that morning and no others had been spoken of so Thranduil's impolitic objections were wildly out of place. "And I imagine more tactfully than if Thranduil himself had spoken with you or worded his own message."

"And once again you counsel me to keep my peace," Elrond smiled thinly. "I shall of course double check upon the functioning of the patrols in question and then I shall have to see about a response." He sighed heavily.

Elladan had been sitting quietly, waiting with patience for his father to finish and also listening with half and ear to the proceedings for it concerned him to see such an expression of disgust and anger upon his father's usually controlled countenance. Now, he spoke again, seeing that the situation required only the smallest of attentions at the present.

"This sketch, Papa, Glorfindel."

"Which, sorry?" Elrond re-rolled the message from Thranduil via his long-suffering scribe Celegaer.

"What does it show?" Glorfindel asked, beginning to search through the notes upon who was currently responsible for the patrol of the breached borders and who the messengers were for communications with Mirkwood.

"It is Papa, but there is another man with him," Elladan said, scrutinising the sketch closely. "It is drawn from afar and depicts a the waterfall. Papa is sitting on a rock," Elladan's lips twitched into a smile. "His boots are being nibbled at by a big grey horse - there is another, a smaller...chestnut - I think - a little distance from them. Then there is this other man. He is stood beneath the fall itself and laughing. I do not recognise him, but he has abandoned his boots - and cape!"

Elladan had no place to sound as scandalised as he did and Elrond looked up in amusement.

"I cannot imagine, Elladan, show me."

He sat back, putting aside his quill and turning to his son.

Glorfindel, still occupied with the lists of names and positions, took a moment to register. Elladan slid off the window seat to flick back the leaves and present the sketch to his father, just as Glorfindel processed what scene the sketch depicted.

"Elladan...!" It was too late for him to more than begin a word of warning and the youngster's name fell from his lips in a breath choked with horror.

Elrond's hand closed over the sketch and he lifted it to examine, the smile still playing about his lips.

It was gone a moment later, his facial muscles spasmed once as he fought for control. Elladan watched in consternation as emotions roller-coastered through his father's eyes, far beyond even Elrond's remarkable control to conceal. It was as though the temperature in the room had dropped to below that which held the river in its icy grip, chilling Elladan's blood in his veins as he watched the internal struggle for composure as usually unseen emotions rocked his father's frame. When Elrond spoke however, his voice was utterly calm, almost bland; it was not even enough to stir Elrohir's attention from the box he was still probing.

"Oh, do you not recognise him, Elladan?" Elrond's voice held measured enquiry. "That is Ere-... Gil-galad."

"Gil-galad?" Elladan knew his disbelief sounded in his tone.

The picture barely seemed to resemble the dignified and powerful High King to whom his father had once been Herald.

"Gil-Galad was an Elvin-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing," Elrohir lifted his head with a proud grin directed at Glorfindel, who had long ago claimed to despair of ever teaching Elrohir any history and began to sing.

"The last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea.
His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heaven's field
were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away,
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star..."

"In Mordor where the shadows are," Elrond's voice came out as a harsh whisper.

He rose abruptly, his face darkening and took a few steps about the room, not heading anywhere, as though he were not sure what to do with himself. His eyes were glazed with suppressed emotion and gazed blindly at the wall. With a visible effort he stilled his aimless perambulation and turned to look at his sons. For the smallest instant his expression was resentful, the flicker of something perilously close to loathing surfaced, but was lost so quickly that Elladan wondered if he had been mistaken.

Elrond took the box from Elrohir without a word. He crossed to the metal worked cabinet with the enormous locking mechanism that so fascinated his younger son, fashioned by Elvin craftsmen for security, which was inlaid into the wall of his study and roughly pushed the box inside it. When he turned back, his face was a blank mask.

"I think perhaps you should go now," he said in a controlled voice. "I have some matters to attend to which are of dear import and I do not think that you are yet ready to share in them, given the attention spans you are exhibiting currently."

Elladan opened his mouth, whether to apologise or to ask which task they should undertake next, was not Glorfindel's primary concern.

"Just go," he mouthed at his lover and was relieved when Elladan complied, escorting the startled Elrohir from the room instantly.


"I can walk without aid, thank you," Elrohir tugged himself free of Elladan's grip and turned to his brother with slightly annoyed eyes.

"Sorry," Elladan murmured distractedly, glancing behind him at the closed door.

"What in Middle-earth made you quote that?" he asked, turning to his twin.

Elrohir shrugged.

"I remembered it that is all. It is the only thing I think Glorfindel managed to teach me about historically."

"You know a great deal more," Elladan observed wryly.

Elrohir grinned.

"Of course. I like the battle strategies and the Elves of renown as much as you do, but Glorfindel's way of telling them was incredibly boring. Why he couldn't have had tales to tell us from those who were actually there I do not know, or shown us examples of battle techniques based on the real wars, now that would have been interesting. Besides," Elrohir added with an impish grin. "You only listened with such intense interest because you like the sound of his voice - do you make him tell you the 'battle plans' when you lie with him?"

Elladan proved just how much he knew about battle plans by spinning around and clipping his brother smartly around the ear before Elrohir could duck. His twin straightened up with a wince and a grin.

"Mind your tongue," Elladan chided, feeling himself smile a little even as his cheeks coloured. "I was genuinely interested. I am," he amended.

"So Glorfindel is more of a distraction then?" Elrohir parried playfully. "I shall tell him that you cannot concentrate on lessons because you are thinking about..."

"Smacking that smile off your face," Elladan warned threateningly.

"Get the wooden spoon," Elrohir dared him. He waited a heartbeat for Elladan to narrow his eyes suspiciously and then grinned. "Go on, I bet it would be quite..."

"If you dare insinuate that you would find it pleasurable for me to spank you with a wooden spoon, then I will personally..." Elladan trailed off wondering what he could possibly do that would not be construed in a sexual light. While he distinctly preferred that his brother was not regarding him as a prospective bed warmer any more, he was not pleased with the turn of events that made it a continual subject of jest between them.

"You will what? Do tell," Elrohir taunted.

"Kiss you," Elladan replied seriously.

The look of shock that crossed Elrohir's face a second before they both folded up in paroxysms of mirth was more than adequate to satisfy Elladan's sense of victory.

"All the same though," Elladan said, sobering up once more. "I do rather wonder what it was that upset Papa so much."

Elrohir shrugged uneasily.

"I don't know. I mean, it is only an old verse after all."

"Yes, but..." Elladan faltered, thinking again of the picture. "I suppose that Papa was very fond of Gil-galad, I mean they must have been quite close."

"They were King and Herald, of course they were close," Elrohir said impatiently. "They had to be for the sake of the Kingdom, what use would be enmity between King and Herald when war is afoot?"

"I just meant...we know so little about Gil-galad. No one ever speaks of him except in that verse or with utmost respect and sorrow. And none of them speak of him around Papa. Ever. Have you not noticed?"

"I have," Elrohir said more quietly. "But Elladan, what are you thinking?"

"I..." Elladan hesitated, reluctant to give voice to his unworthy thoughts. "I...I just wondered if perhaps Papa was somehow responsible - you know - for Gil-galad's death or somewhat."

Elrohir shrugged.

"They could have been lovers for all we know about it," he replied flippantly. "We could speculate forever, but Papa, if today's reaction is anything to go by, is not about to tell us and the man has been dead for three thousand years, what significance can it have now?"


Part 2

"My Lord?" Glorfindel spoke hesitantly as the door closed behind the twins.

Elrond had walked to the windowsill and was gripping it with both hands, staring blindly out at the valley.

"Elrond," Glorfindel said more quietly. "Come away. They meant no harm and cannot know what grief this has caused you. They did not intend to cause you pain."

Elrond was tracking the progress of his protégées out across the grass as they walked toward the stables.

"No. No they did not," Elrond sighed, but his voice was as tense as a bowstring and quivering with emotions. "No more did you, for drawing that picture, nor I for living that moment, intended to cut my own throat with the blade of grief, which *this* moment spills all life from my veins."

Glorfindel was silent, the internal anguish of his friend paining him greatly.

Elrond sighed again.

"Go after them, Glorfindel. They must not ride alone with the borders reported as insecure."

"I will," Glorfindel laid a hand gently on Elrond's shoulder. He hesitated a moment and then said very softly, "He would never have wished to see you like this."

The bloodless hands gripping the sill tightened, but Elrond did not speak again.

It was only after the door had swung closed behind him that Glorfindel realised that he had left his sketchbook upon the desk. He hesitated, but thought the better of going back for it. Elrond needed a few moments alone to gather himself. At least, Glorfindel hope that it would only be a few moments. Of course, it would not be if the twins were met by Orcs on the uncertain borders. Glorfindel abandoned all thoughts of his sketches and quickened his step.


Why, Elrond thought, his heart wrenching in his chest. Why did it have to be that moment? That tiny instant in time, which Glorfindel had so innocently captured and Elladan now unearthed? Why? The word tolled like a bell and seized his heart with its crippling vibrations, squeezing cruelly until his chest felt as though it contained a searing lump of twisted metal and every breath hurt. He swallowed hard, willing himself not to let the tears already stinging his eyes fall.

It was one of his most private and cherished memories of Ereinion. One that for so long had lain concealed within his heart, unknown and untouched by even his memory, for now he could not bear to recall it.

Yet though his steps were weighted with trepidation, he was drawn, by an invisible force, inexorably toward the desk, to lift the sketch. And as he stared at it for many moments before, as he had known it would, the image grew in his mind, colour seeping into the page. Elrond closed his eyes and succumbed to the flood of memory.

The day was hot, unseasonable so, though not unwelcome. The sun, hanging high in the sky, seemed set to burn every trace of winter from the lands. The open walkways and stone sculpted structures of Imladris kept the occupants mercifully cool, but still the sun's intensity could not go leave the Elves unaffected. Imladris was lying shimmering in the heat, tranquil despite the unease that was beginning to feel as though it were a permanent corruption to the otherwise pure air. The sun was a welcome relief from the darkness of winter, where the darker forces that lingered, biding their time were felt more strongly than ever.

Elrond gazed out of the window, mentally berating himself for yet another lapse in his concentration, but quite unable to tear his gaze away from the golden spread to examine the reports of black tales from the other kingdoms nearby. Beside him the High King of the Noldor laid down his quill with a smile.

"Come," Gil-galad said, pushing back his chair. "Let us take a few moments and indulge ourselves in this beauteous day."

Gil-galad had arrived in Imladris the previous night, seeking Elrond's council in part, but also for some reason as yet unfathomable to the Lord of Rivendell. Gil-galad had been uncharacteristically evasive about any other cause he might have to pay a visit. Glad though he was to see his friend, even for the grim task they contemplated for war was not a question, if, it was a prospect, when, Elrond still hesitated at the proposition.

"My Lord, is it wise? We can ill-afford to..." Elrond gestured to the numerous rolls of scripts as yet unopened.

Gil-galad cast them a look of deep dislike.

"Our concentration is ill when every fibre of our beings longs for the consecrating touch of the sun," Gil-galad countered. "We cannot afford a mistake, Elrond, it would almost be better to leave it." He rose and moved to the window, leaning against the frame and staring out at the valley beyond. Elrond deliberated for another moment, agonised.

"Come," Gil-galad turned to look at Elrond, a small smile twitching his lips. "I command it."

Elrond thinned his lips, smiling a little despite himself.

"Far be it from me to suggest that you abuse your position, my Lord..." he let the sentence hang unfinished.

"I freely confess it!" Gil-galad swung away from the windowsill with a laugh. "But there must be some small pleasures in being King."

Elrond read beneath the flippant remark, as Gil-galad had known he would, and he met his counsellor's scrutiny with stormy eyes.

"It is becoming a burden is it not?" Elrond asked seriously, laying aside his pen now too and rising in turn.

The remainder of Gil-galad's amusement died from his eyes.

"More than you can know," he said sadly. "So dark are these times, Elrond..."

He rallied himself with an effort.

"Will you not ride with me for a time and allow me to leave this burden upon your desk for a time?"

Elrond graced him with a small bow.

"I will."

And so they had ridden, upon eager mounts, whose light footsteps carried them with the speed of wings far from the leadened scrolls and the words that more were suited for the gates of Mandos' Halls than the sun bathed ones of Rivendell. They had ridden until they reached the smallest of the falls that tumbled from the valley sides and the pool that lay beneath it. This accomplished, they had dismounted to let the horses drink.

Without ceremony, Gil-galad had unbridled his horse and swung himself up onto the rocky outcrop, which lay just out of the spray from the falling water, leaning his back against a projection. His long hair cascaded around his shoulders as though it too were a liquid. He sat, watching Elrond with apparent amusement as his herald glanced back in the direction of the houses.

"Many of our kind age over time," Gil-galad said, a smile in his voice and eyes. "Though little by little it is true. You, on the other hand, grow more youthful."

Slightly offended, Elrond arched a haughty eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"I mean only that the way you are now reminds me so much of how you were when I met you first. Are your cares so great that you fall back upon old habits more suited to the inexperienced youth that you once were? Come, stand down from your station, cast it all off. Granted your conscientiousness does you credit, but you make me feel guilty that I wish to put aside *my* cares for a time, when you will not."

With a smile, Elrond hitched himself up beside Gil-galad.

"Is this better?"

Gil-galad chuckled warmly.

"Much."

"Anything your Lordship requires, of course," Elrond murmured, regarding Gil-galad from under slightly lowered lashes, his eyes half closed against the sun's glare.

"Anything?" Gil-galad asked a little oddly.

Elrond reopened a suspicious eye.

"Within reason," he amended, grinning.

"And what do you call 'within reason'?" Gil-galad asked slyly.

"What is it that you wish of me?" Elrond countered playfully, feeling some of the tensions of the day slip away as he allowed himself to banter unrestrainedly.

Gil-galad pretended to consider the matter, letting a smile tweak at the corners of his mouth.

"Well now, let me see..."

Elrond laughed, watching Gil-galad's face as he awaited his fate.

After a moment Gil-galad seemed to reach a decision.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

Elrond blinked at him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Why do I expect I am going to regret this?"

Gil-galad chuckled.

"More fool you for saying such things. I will teach you to mock me. Now, close your eyes."

With a roll of them first heavenward, Elrond complied.

Another long moment passed and Elrond reopened one eye. Gil-galad growled wordlessly at him. Sighing audibly, Elrond shut it again.

"Is there a purpose to this, or are you just asserting your dominance?"

"Why, the latter, of course. And, by the laws known to our kind, there is nothing that you can do about it." Gil-galad sounded as though he was having trouble restraining himself from laughing.

"I said 'within reason'," Elrond reminded him darkly.

"You would call this unreasonable?" Gil-galad questioned.

Contemplating that there might be alternatives in store, which would undoubtedly classify as such, Elrond, replied with the negative.

"That is fortunate. May I remind you that it is not actually within your rights to add such conditions anyway."

"And yet..."

"And yet you do," Gil-galad sounded peculiarly pleased by the notion. "It is a trait within you that I admire greatly, for you are not intimidated by title, nor any other such rank. You have a little self-respect."

There was a sigh on the air and a new warmth that had little to do with the sun.

Elrond opened his eyes again to find that Gil-galad had drawn one knee up to his chest and clasped both arms around it, resting his cheek upon the support, his long hair pouring down in a curtain that half concealed his face. His eyes were fixed upon Elrond, and had, Elrond suspected, been so for some considerable time.

"Do not ever allow that to be lost," Gil-galad advised gently.

"There speaks a true King," Elrond replied with equal solemnity.

Gil-galad sighed a little.

"King," he parroted softly, almost bitterly.

"It is a lonely title," Elrond said, guessing what it was that brought such a note into the familiar baritone. "I assume that I would not be out stepping my bounds if I amended that to 'friend'?"

"If you mean it, truly, then it could not ever be considered in the least inappropriate," Gil-galad said softly, his eyes warming again. "And if it makes me sound not like a child begging for lembas," he added ruefully.

"Is it so wrong to want such things?" Elrond asked of him.

"I imagine that would depend upon who you were asking," Gil-galad answered, pulling a wry face.

"In my opinion it is not," Elrond assured him.

Reaching over, Gil-galad took Elrond's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Dearest Elrond, always you counsel me with your words."

Elrond laid his other hand atop Gil-galad's.

"And I will, for as long as you ask it of me, as long as I am able," he pledged. "Even if you wish not to hear them!"

Gil-galad laughed aloud.

It was he who first brought their lips together. His mouth gentle, but firm, leaving Elrond in no doubt as to the meaning of the gesture. For a moment, everything around them ceased to be. There was no sun, no air, no light, no dark as Elrond willingly yielded to his Lord's kiss. There was nothing, save the kiss itself. Nothing.

And then there was everything. His silenced subconscious recovered from its shock and bawled at him. The roar of his blood pounding in his head matched the thunder of the waterfall in his ears.

Gil-galad sensed the change, pulling back seconds before Elrond could co-ordinate his muscles to initiate the same movement. Gil-galad's dark blue eyes were fixed upon Elrond's face warily. Elrond stared back at him, like a hare, panic frozen at the approach of a horse's hooves. Gil-galad's expression flickered with consternation.

"I am afraid that I have offended you," he said softly, clearing any doubt that Elrond's claim that he abused his position of King was aught but jest.

"N...nay, my Lord," Elrond found his voice was turned to whisper and he touched his lips in wonderment.

"Then will you not speak?" Gil-galad requested of him.

"I.... Forgive me," Elrond stammered. "I know not what to say."

Gil-galad eyed him almost apprehensively, letting his hair fall back across his face like a screen.

"Then this is wretched indeed. For in the darkest hours we have yet seen in this age, you have never been short of counsel for me."

"I am your herald," Elrond murmured stupidly.

"That is not new," Gil-galad bit his lower lip in an uncharacteristically anxious gesture. "I...forgive me, Elrond, I have wronged you."

"My Lord!" Elrond burst out. "You wrong me only in that you torment me! I am your herald. This cannot be! I cannot give you what you need."

"What I need?" Gil-galad echoed.

"I am your herald, I am also male. How can I be what it is that you need? A wife, heirs..."

"Heirs?" Gil-galad almost laughed. "Heirs upon which to thrust this burden of Kingship when I am weary or fool enough to get myself killed. Youngsters to cripple with the weight of this crown? Do not give me heirs - I beg of you!"

Elrond's lips parted in astonishment and he worked his jaw wordlessly.

"Is it this crown that stands between us then?" Gil-galad snatched off the circlet, holding it up so that it shimmered in the sunlight and then cast it fiercely aside onto the rock. Elrond stared at it for a long moment, hardly daring to breathe. His pulse beating in his throat silenced all hope of words.

"Or is it not that?" Gil-galad's voice dropped to a whisper.

Elrond continued to stare at him, searching for words with which to answer and upon finding them, discovered that his voice had deserted him.

"Tell me this," Gil-galad leaned forward, placing his hands either side of Elrond's lap so that their faces were separated by scant inches. "Do you feel it?"

Elrond swallowed hard.

"Elrond, answer me!" Gil-galad cried. "I am not asking you if you love me..."

"Love you?" Elrond echoed, his voice suddenly found and almost laughing himself now. "My Lord, I do!"

It was Gil-galad's turn to stare in wonderment. His lips twitched into a grin.

"Then stop procrastinating and kiss me."

Elrond leaned forward, surprising even himself at his boldness and drew their lips together again.

Gil-galad's hand slipped up to caress Elrond's hair and bringing him closer into the kiss. Elrond slid his arms around Gil-galad's body, feeling the strong contours of muscled flesh beneath his hands, sculpted from thousands upon thousands of years, riding, shooting and fighting. As he melted into the kiss, the overwhelming realisation of how much they both needed this engulfed him. Gil-galad smiled at little, acknowledging the same, kissing Elrond more fiercely.

Elrond clutched at Gil-galad's shoulders, pinning them chest-to-chest. Their bodies melted together, lips locked, tongues searching, asking and yielding in turn. The sun burned against his back, but Elrond was barely aware of it, so hot was the fire inside him. He gripped Gil-galad's robes, holding him desperately. Gil-galad clung to him with equal need, his hands tangled in Elrond's hair.

Gradually the initial intensity died away and they drew apart, reluctantly, but knowing that they had to, lest they wished to proceed further and given the location this would have been unwise. Breathless and now, a little self-conscious, Elrond felt the years fall away from him until he was barely more than a newly awakened child, gasping in wonder at love's first kiss.

Gil-galad pushed aside his protective curtain of hair and kissed Elrond once more for good measure, cupping his face almost reverently. Elrond closed his hand over Gil-galad's and then rose as the King straightened his robes, self-conscious himself now.

Elrond chuckled, lifting the golden circlet that Gil-galad had cast aside and set it back upon his Lord's brow. Gil-galad rolled his eyes self-depreciatingly and settled it straight.

"You do realise of course, that it will be even harder to concentrate now," he said, walking to the waterfall and stepping beneath it, letting the torrent saturate him.

Elrond merely smiled, aware that he too, at last, had left the burden he carried upon his desk and there it could stay, at least for a little longer. Gil-galad's mare big grey mare, Celebrindal, nuzzled at his boot, a silent promise from a silent witness never to betray what had passed beneath her nose.

And she never had, Elrond thought to himself, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, despite every effort tears seeping from beneath the closed lids. Sometimes, horses could betray ones secrets, or sometimes, act as co-conspiritors - a warning neigh at the approach of another beast, the strike of a well-placed hoof in battle. But they could also tell tales, their bellies wet with morning dew from an early secret ride, or their coats unsweated when one claimed to be riding afar...and were, if one redefined the type of riding that was being done. Celebrindal had never done so. But she had not betrayed Glorfindel either, who had ridden out alone some hours before to map the layout of the borders once more and found more interesting matter to sketch, his work completed and the sound of voices piquing his curiosity. But he had never betrayed them either. Until now...

Part 3

Notes: 1) Elen means 'Star' and Carnil is the name of a red star in Middle-earth.
2) Yes, the women are embroidering in this scene - it is not a stereotyping, it is just that it would have been very difficult to conduct the sort of conversation that elapses from the back of a horse without half the Elves in Imladris over hearing it. Besides, they probably did sew at least some times.


The twins were bridling their mounts and almost ready to depart by the time Glorfindel caught up with them. His request that they consented not to ride was met with exasperation.

"Come, Glorfindel, we ride now with the border patrols, we are more than old enough to ride without escort!" Elrohir protested.

"Even the border patrols ride in no less than threesomes at the best of times - it is not safe and such small numbers can easily be overwhelmed, if they have the misfortune to be set upon by a large number of Orcs. Bow, arrow and swift steed can only do so much," Glorfindel reminded them both.

"You are right, as per usual," Elladan said, with the ghost of a smile. "Perhaps, brother, we should postpone our ride until the border checks this evening and uptake some of the tasks we have been appointed."

"Papa set us naught," Elrohir replied, frowning a little at the peculiarity of this. "But you may be right."

"If you need occupation..." Glorfindel began.

"No, no," Elrohir said hastily. "I am certain that there must be something that I have to attend to, somewhere." He made his escape as he spoke these words and the last travelled to their ears from around the corner of the stable block.

Glorfindel shook his head in amusement.

"If it is an consolation I doubt he will be idle," Elladan said, laying a hand on Glorfindel's arm and rubbing it affectionately.

"I have never known Elrohir to be idle," Glorfindel replied, putting his hands on his hips. "It is what he finds to do with his time that generally concerns me." Elladan grinned.

"Me too. But with the current situation so unstable, Elrohir will not be as inclined to while away his hours in some bed or other when he could be doing something that will benefit Imladris and keep us from or prepare us for war."

Glorfindel acknowledged the truth with a nod.

"Speaking of war," Elladan continued uncomfortably, beginning to remove Elen's bridle as Glorfindel moved to do the same for Carnil. "Can I ask of you what it was that I did to grieve Papa so?"

Glorfindel was silent for a moment. Stepping out of Carnil's stall he hooked the bridle back on its peg outside and turned to Elladan with a measured expression.

"What is it that you wish to know exactly?"

"Glory," Elladan said in a low voice, exiting his own mare's stall and hanging up her harness. "I know that I upset Papa, as did Elrohir with the rendition of that old verse. I know also that Papa was the herald of the High King Gil-galad. If there was no more to the tale than that then why does no one ever speak of it? And why did Papa look at me as though he could have slain me upon the instant had he the blade to do it? That is not like him, Glory. And you too, looked most uncomfortable. Though my eyes show me that it was nothing more than a picture and some words, my heart suggests to me otherwise. Tell me, please, why is this so?"

Glorfindel stared for many long moments at a wisp of straw chasing across the flagstones, stirred by the breeze. Finally he sighed.

"Very well," he said eventually. "I will tell you. But not here, Elladan." He glanced up and down the chilly alleyway. "Come inside and I will tell you what is in my power to tell."


Elrohir pushed open the door to his mother's private chamber atop one of the highest storeys in Imladris. The curved window allowed in what little sunlight was fluttering its weak beams against the house. Celebrían looked up at her son's approach, setting aside her embroidery with a smile. Arwen too looked up but, seeing her brother's countenance, laid aside her work also and excused herself. Elrohir waited for the door to close behind his sister and then took her vacated seat.

"Well, why so solemn, my son? I cannot believe that you came to me wishing to learn how to sew?" Celebrían took up her needle again, but she trained her gaze upon her younger son's face.

"I believe that I am already experienced in the art - do you not often enough refer to me as a 'so and so'?" Elrohir teased.

"I do indeed," Celebrían smiled. "And it is often fitting. There are days when I think I should sew your hands behind your back."

"I do recall that the last time such a thing was suggested it was carried out..." Elrohir reminded her alluding briefly to the incident involving the Elvin aphrodisiac.

Celebrían's lips pursed, but she smiled, whether at her son's audacity or the memory Elrohir wasn't about to pursue.

"Another example of you being a 'so and so'," she told him.

"But come," she continued, unpicking a stitch she had just made and reworking it. "I cannot believe that you came here purely to tease me. Were you not supposed to be assisting your father this morning?"

"I was..." Elrohir sighed and began to fiddle uneasily with the ties of his tunic. "Mama, I fear that I have caused Papa some injury. Elladan is responsible too, though I know he heads to Glorfindel for his council and is unaware that I am here."

"Oh?" Celebrían prompted, laying her work in her lap and regarding her son in consternation.

"Elladan found an old picture of Glorfindel's, which depicted Papa, standing with Ereinion Gil-galad..." Elrohir saw his mother's lips tighten and her hands tensed around her needle, her eyes, when he looked into them, held deep concern. "I made reference to the old verse, you know, the one that begins 'Gil-galad was an Elvin King' and ends 'In Mordor...'"

"'Where the shadows are.' Oh Elrohir!" His mother concluded with an admonishing cry. "Truly I should sew your mouth shut! For one who feels others pain as deeply as if it were his own, too often are you the unwitting cause of it."

Elrohir's mouth snapped shut, stung; he stared at his mother, awaiting an explanation.

Celebrían shook her head, sighing aloud and folding up her embroidery. Slotting the needle through the cloth she returned all to her workbasket and then looked to her son.

"Hush, my love," she laid her hand on his cheek, seeing the pain in his eyes. "You could not have known and I am sorry to have spoken so abruptly."

"Known what?" Elrohir said and seeing his mother's hesitation cried, "Mama, what? Please tell me for I do not wish to do such a thing again!"

Celebrían nodded. She sat in contemplation for a moment, absently smoothing his hair and looping it behind his ears.

"Very few among the living this day knew of this," she said eventually. "And probably even fewer in the time in which it occurred. You know that your father was the herald of the High King of the Noldor do you not?" When Elrohir nodded, she continued. "What most of our kind did not know, my own father included, was that your father was much, much more to the King than herald. He was his lover."

Elrohir drew in his breath sharply. His careless comment to Elladan had rung with unnerving clarity at the time and now was confirmed.

"Shh," Celebrían hushed him, glancing about as though she feared that they would be over heard. "Yes," she sighed. "Your father and Gil-galad were lovers, and great ones by the accounts I have heard, including his own. Your unwitting repetition of that historical ballad - a beautiful one and a fitting tribute to an Elf such as Gil-galad - has been barely sung within these halls and is rarely spoken of in your father's presence. He cannot bear it." She sighed again. "How he summoned the will to live, loving Gil-galad as he did, when his King was lost upon the slopes of Mordor that day, I will never know. I think it was only his sense of duty and perhaps some promise made that kept his soul within his body. He carries the burden of Vilya as you know - that was Gil-galad's ring, before the Last Alliance. Maybe some few words pledged with that exchange were enough to keep him standing. Or," she managed a tight smile. "The rivalry between him and Isildur was the spark that held the fire burning, for, as you know, Isildur took the Ring of Power, despite the sacrifices made by Gil-galad and his own father, Elendil. Elrond would not have wanted Gil-galad's death to have been in vain."

Elrohir digested the information in silence. Finally, he said,

"Mama, how can you speak of this with such calm. You talk of father's great love for this man without hint of envy or doubt of his affections for you - not," he added hastily, "To imply that there should be cause for you to do so. I just wonder that you can speak so well of Gil-galad."

"He was a truly remarkable King," Celebrían said quietly. "I have rarely heard my father praise one so openly as he did Gil-galad. He had his faults, not least in that he loved his herald. Not, of course, that such alliances were unheard of, or even disapproved of." She smiled a little, almost sadly. "Still, for their part it was kept very quiet, discretion in the face of their human allies or simply that it was precious to them, I know not. But Gil-galad was well loved by many of our kind. Perhaps not the Sindarins," she admitted with a smile. "Least of all perhaps King Oropher and now his son, Thranduil, who holds, as I am sure that you have gathered, no great fondness for your father either. Oh, Gil-galad was not perfect, his guilt in the formation of the very Rings that brought his death was one thing, however indirect his responsibility was. What made him great was that he acknowledged his failings and struggled to make amends for them. And of course, his distrust of Sauron may have been the saviour of our kind."

For another moment she was quiet and then she said, "As for your father's affections for me, I doubt them not. I know that he does not love me as he loved Gil-galad. I think that he has lost the ability...no, that is unkind; he has lost *to himself* the ability to trust enough to love. He fears that he will lose his loved once more and he could not bear such grief a second time, I think. A great many of our kind would have laid down upon the slopes of Mordor itself and willed themselves also to a early grave rather than face the ages alone."

Elrohir was openly shocked.

"And you do not care, that Papa does not love you?"

Celebrían smiled reassuringly, taking her son's hand.

"In truth, Elrohir, it would be a falsification of my own feelings if I were to claim true love for your father. There is a place for him in my heart, and there always will be, but, as it seems time for truths, I see little point in concealing from you that ours was a political marriage and not a bonding of love at all."

Elrohir stared at the back of his mother's hand, smoothing it with the ball of his thumb.

"You neither love then the other? A strange alliance is that, if you are not offended by my opinion?"

"No, how can I be?" Celebrían smiled. "Do not doubt that there is a strong affection between us, but it is grown with the years and not the remnants of a lost passion."

"How?" Elrohir burst out. "How could you marry when you didn't love?"

"How? For the purposes of an alliance. It is not common among our kind to do so, I grant, because often we form such deep bonds of love for another that to marry out of that would be suicide or worse, a soulless existence. However, my father sought a solid bonding with Imladris for Lorien. It was one much needed in those sorry days, for there was so little remaining sanctuary that to stand at odds among ourselves would have been of the greatest folly. There are many matches, among our generation, sprung not from love, but politics. My father had held Gil-galad in high esteem and, in his own way, was fond of Elrond and had respect for him. My father is not the most sociable of creatures and any alliance between them was of a peculiar nature for Elrond was deeply, deeply grieved by the loss of Gil-galad and for a time, barely aware of himself - though he held Imladris together by a will of unimaginable magnitude. It was this that won my father's high opinion of him, but a friendship between them was not enough, nor even a pact, for they were so reserved in their manners that our people, now suspicious of everyone and everything, would not have believed in each other's sincerity.

"A marriage between our houses appeared to be the only option. Elrond was willing to take me as a bride." She hesitated for long enough to complete the thought in her mind, In truth I think that he could not have cared if he had been asked to take my father into a marriage bond at that time. "The delay was in that my family was reluctant to wed me off in a political match and there was much examining of alternative possibilities. In the end however, it was not to be and I married your father."

Elrohir lifted puzzled, troubled eyes to her face.

"I know not if I could have done that," he said. "I would wish to marry for love, if indeed I ever do."

"You may, Elrohir, you may, do not yet dismiss it through the casual disregard of youth. As for my part, are you so sure that you could not? To marry a man, known for his goodness, to forge an alliance between the only sanctuaries left within Middle-earth and thereby ensure safety for all Elvin kind. Besides, I loved no other man - no, nor woman," she added, when Elrohir opened his mouth with a mischievous look. "It was not a hardship to me and as I have said, there is now a great deal of affection between us. I have been his councillor and he mine for many hundreds of years. We have the joy of you three children to show for our match and lives that can be lived apart or together, allowing us both freedom, indeed it is not such a hard thing to do."

Elrohir remained quiet. Eventually he said, "No, I suppose it is not."

"I have shocked you, my love," Celebrían stated.

"A little," Elrohir owned. "But I thank you for telling me."

Rising, he pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek.

"One more thing," he said, not yet releasing her hand. "Should I say aught to Papa, or hold my tongue?"

"A simple apology should suffice. It was a fault unwitting and any further explanation would be to delve inside the wound itself."

Elrohir nodded, giving her fingers a quick squeeze.

"Thank you, Mama," he said, moving for the door.

"Elrohir," she called after him. He turned. "I would thank you not to speak of this with anyone, if you will. You may, if you wish, discuss it with your brother and your sister, but your father has not given me leave to speak of his past and I would not like too many to know of the past we share, for it would defeat the object of it."

Elrohir nodded.

"I will not then." With a smile and a nod, he left her alone, hurrying down the stairs surprisingly lighter in his heart.


Part 4

"Papa?" Arwen stepped into the library, hoping to catch her father, if he had completed his urgent business that had apparently arrived that morning. Urgent business usually was either bad news or a message from Thranduil, either of which would mean that her father would be in a bad mood and his company was much pleasanter if she let him rant for a time to relieve his gloom.

He was not where she had anticipated and she was almost at the conclusion that he had not finished whatever was occupying him, when she saw Elladan and Glorfindel come inside and head up the staircase. Glorfindel was rarely from her father's side in times of crisis and so it was unlikely that her father kept to his work. A moment's hesitation was enough to deliberate and send her up the stairs behind them. Elrond was not in his room either, though that came as little surprise. Neither of her parents seemed to find any sort of sanctuary in their shared quarters - it was only a place to go from ceremony that had become habit. Her mother usually took solace in her sewing room or out upon the river. Her father retreated to his library or outside in no particular haven.

Cautiously she opened the door to his study. He was inside, stood facing the desk, still and silent. Thinking that perhaps she had misread his occupation, Arwen almost turned to leave. Then she caught sight of his face. His eyes. Blank and staring into some place that she could not reach, the glint of silver tears on his cheeks. For half an instant Arwen considered turning and leaving quietly. She had never, ever seen her father cry and she felt her heart flutter with fear. Some unknown force compelled her to close the door behind her and walk to him, her voice sounded gentle, not a hint of the anxiety she felt in its soothing tones.

"Papa?"

He turned, like a startled horse, as though he had been so deeply immersed that he did not hear her entrance. His gaze shifted back from the distance to the room within, but the expression of endless agony did not diminish.

"Arwen," he said tiredly.

With an effort he laid aside a piece of paper that he was holding. His body shivered a little as though chilled by a sudden draft and he lifted a hand to scrape away his tears.

"What can I do for you, my daughter?"

"No, Papa, that will not do." She crossed the room and took both of his hands in hers. "What is it that I can do for you?"

Elrond stared at her for a long moment.

"Sadly there is naught that you can do, unless you can raise the dead."

Arwen drew in her breath.

"Even if I could..." she stopped, calming herself, for though he had sounded serious he knew as well as she that it would defy nature.

"You would not," Elrond finished. "I know. For to reclaim life is to take from Mandos' Halls the highest price and he demands payment in return. Nothing, though I find it hard to believe sometimes, nothing is worth that."

Arwen touched his arm gently.

"Why do you find it so hard to believe? There is so much in this life to be loved that consolation can be found for our losses."

"You speak with a youth that I no longer possess." His tone was sharper than a blade and Arwen was startled.

"I am sorry," she said, her voice coming out in almost a whisper. "But Papa, you must not long for the past or wish for the dead or you too will die."

"I am dead already," his voice was heavy. "A long time since."

"No!" Arwen cried out. "You are not Papa and you must not speak so. You live."

"I exist," Elrond snapped. At her flinch he closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. "Oh Arwen, my daughter, forgive me. You have caught me most severely out of sorts and I speak without care."

Arwen bit her bottom lip to hide the nervous quiver. "Do you speak true?"

"I...oh, I do not know," Elrond sighed heavily. He smoothed her hair affectionately, pulling her into a one armed hug. "Sometimes I feel that it is so. Others, nay, I think that there is much in this world to live for."

"Love." Arwen stated naively.

But her father's face closed down again and he froze next to her. "That is to die for," he said quietly.

Arwen lifted her eyes to his worriedly.

"Is it so? Should we not live for love? Love is so broad a term, but surely it is such a precious thing that it should not bring such misery with it?"

"Love is as hard and bitter as it is sweet and warm," Elrond said with a twisted smile.

"Then we should embrace it all. What it brings, what it brought and what is to come of it."

"I am glad you think so," Elrond relaxed again a fraction. "You hold to that. And one day, when you loose the one you love more than any, you come to me and tell me if you can still do that. If you can..." He left the thought hanging.

"You can always love," Arwen stated simply. "Even if it is just the memory."

"That, my dear daughter, is all that keeps me going," Elrond said flatly.

"You speak of love as though it is dead. But of which love do you speak? All? Do you not love me?"

"Of course I love you," Elrond seemed shocked. "Oh Arwen, I am upsetting you and I did not mean to." He sighed, rubbing away his tears and pinching the bridge of his nose. "The love of which I speak is for someone whom I knew a long time ago. It was the love of the heart, the kind of love that binds body and soul. That, for me, is dead. And if I could remember it as happily as you suggest I would be a great deal more content. Alas, the sweetness is soiled by bitter pain."

"Give it time," Arwen murmured.

"I have no other cure," Elrond shook his head. "Oh healer, what are you if you cannot heal yourself."

The remark seemed rhetorical so Arwen remained silent.

"As to that, I will not love that way again. There lies pain and no other could compare in any case. However, I love this world, you, your brothers, even Glorfindel. But that is of a different kind as you so rightly pointed out." He gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze. "As I said, you find me not myself this day. Forgive my gloom and despondency. I will be well..." He smiled ruefully. "In time."


Elladan turned expectantly to Glorfindel as soon as the door closed behind them. In small concession to their increasing years the twins had finally moved into separate bedrooms, on the basis that they spent very little time in the same chamber during the night anyway. Elladan openly slept his nights with Glorfindel. Elrohir had taken to disappearing for three or even four days at a time recently, where he went he never told, but he always slipped into Elladan's chamber to announce his leavings or arrivals. This was a simple enough action, Elladan's room being next door, for a small concession was all that the twins considered that their years deserved.

Glorfindel walked once across the room and then back, his expression pensive. He was beginning to wonder if he had not been rash in his promise to explain everything, but Elladan had caught him off guard, even though he should not have been able to. Glorfindel could have kicked himself for not thinking that at least Elladan would want to know why Elrond had so nearly lost all semblance of control and would make the connection. He suspected that Elrohir had also picked it up, but was unlikely to ask him at least. However, he had been preoccupied with concerns that the twins would ride onto the vulnerable turf and therefore left himself exposed to questions.

He stood staring at Elladan for a moment, wondering if he could retract some of the original promise. Would it be convincing that Elrond could get so upset over a man whom he had loved and respected as a king, fought and served with for a thousand years, been herald to and watched die, while he stood, at a helpless distance, unable to aid him? Probably. Was it fair to Elladan to keep him in the dark so? Was it fair to Elrond to speak of his private business without his leave?

Elladan sat upon the bed, waiting patiently.

Glorfindel crossed to him and cupped Elladan's cheek, kissing him. Elladan slid his fingers into Glorfindel's silky golden hair and returned the kiss, puzzled but unquestioning. Drawing strength from the kiss, Glorfindel sat back, decided.

"What was that for?" Elladan asked, smiling a little, despite the question.

"Am I not allowed to kiss you?"

"Well, technically..." Elladan grinned.

Glorfindel made a rather lewd suggestion about what could be done with technicalities and Elladan stifled a snort of laughter.

"I can think of better things to do that with," he answered, his gaze dropping to the front of Glorfindel's breeches. His lover chuckled.

"Anyway," Elladan persisted, "We have had this answering questions with questions debate before. I say again, what prompted that?"

"It was the answer to your question."

Elladan raised an eyebrow in a gesture shockingly reminiscent of Elrond. For a moment, Glorfindel hesitated again, still torn.

"It appeared to me as an evasion," Elladan remarked.

Glorfindel took a deep breath.

"It was not. I kissed you from love. That is the answer you seek. It was the relationship between your father and Gil-galad."

There it was said.

Elladan's jaw dropped and for a moment, one terrible moment, Glorfindel wondered if he had made a hideous mistake. Then Elladan laughed.

"Oh Glory, do not look at me like that - you surprised me that is all! Elrohir said as much, but in jest and I did not expect to hear it as truth. Truly though? My father and Gil-galad?"

Glorfindel nodded.

"For many years, hundreds, nigh on a thousand. You see, Elladan, your father and Gil-galad were close before they ever became lovers. Elrond stayed with Gil-galad for a time after he first chose to be counted among the Eldar. They became close friends and allies, so close that it would have been enough alone to cause your father such agony when Gil-galad died."

Glorfindel broke off with a fond smile.

"You should have seen them together, Elladan. Just a look or a brief touch of the hand in times of trouble and they could placate or ease the other's burden. And yet could fight like hounds over a joint of meat, though in actual anger I saw only once and that was only because Gil-galad threw a full decanter across the room and they were doubled up alternately laughing and cursing their own idiocy when I came to find out what was causing such a disturbance. But they would continually challenge and jest with the other - race their horses, flick ink at each other writing important documents, they could be unbelievably childish at times - it was most entertaining, particularly when they had enough sense of decorum that most onlookers were utterly unable to work out what was going on. They used to take enormous delight in being incredibly formal with each other - but if you could note the laughter in their eyes as they did so..." He chuckled a little sadly.

"It would have been enough that he witnessed Gil-galad's death, for Círdan himself I have never seen so shaken by such a thing. It would have been enough that the sacrifice came in vain, for despite all efforts, Isildur kept the Ring of Power and the purpose of the Last Alliance failed. All this would have been terrible enough..."

"Indeed," Elladan murmured, shocked. "But...but I do not think that this could have put such an expression into my father's eyes. For the first time in my life, Glory, I was afraid of him, this morning."

Glorfindel nodded sadly.

"It is a perilous subject at the best of times. For your father survived Gil-galad's death, but his wounds have never healed. He covers the wounds with fresh bandages, yet they do not heal. I do not think that even he has the power to help himself. He loved Gil-galad - it was the kind of love that our kind is so famous, or dare I say, infamous for - the sort that the loss of can lead us to our death rather than face the ages without it. But, your father was bound by a promise that he made to Gil-galad, that he would bear the burden of Vilya and he would stand with Isildur, no matter what. Gil-galad entrusted too much to Elrond for your father to surrender his life. Whether Gil-galad had a premonition of what was to come or whether he was just being practical, I think that no one will ever know. Elrond's sense of duty, oath bound and that he promised Gil-galad, whom he could never deny anything, kept his soul in his body. He has made an admirable recovery it is plain, if, as you and your brother have this day proved, you do not know where the cracks lie in his armour."

Elladan was silent for a long moment.

"I did not know," he said, in a voice riddled with guilt.

"Come, few do," Glorfindel soothed. "Discretion is the better part of valour and to that both held all their long years. Among us now, a handful know, you and I aside, probably only Erestor and Celebrían know what else lay beneath the bond of King and Herald. Except Círdan of course, for Gil-galad trusted him above any other aside Elrond. Círdan raised him for a time you see," he added parenthetically.

Elladan nodded slowly.

"I do now. Oh Elbereth, Glorfindel! What have I done?"

"Shh," Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the youngster. "Nothing that a little time will not cause to pass. Your father is a remarkable Elf and strong. He has not survived so long to fall so easily. Besides, he loves you dearly and his grief will subside, probably before the day is out. I think that you caught him, as it were, with lowered shield. He turned, like all warriors, to his blade and spoke harshly. He will forgive you without question and no real harm can come of it."

Elladan gripped the back of Glorfindel's tunic, laying his head against his lover's shoulder, feeling shaken.

"Good," he whispered. "Good."


Elrond watched the door close behind his daughter and gave himself a small shake. He would have liked nothing better than to sit awhile in solitude and try to think in a calmer frame of mind about Ereinion, but his daughter's counsel had made him conscious of however much time he needed, there were others who needed reassurance at this moment and his first thoughts fell to his sons. He put slipped the picture of Gil-galad into the pocket of his robes. Touching it like a talisman, oddly soothed in a painful fashion, he went in search of Elladan.


As Arwen left her father, Elrohir came down the stairs from the sewing room, leaving Celebrían alone and brooding. In truth I think that he could not have cared if he had been asked to take my father into a marriage bond at that time. The thought played over and over in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition. She rose and moved to stand in the window, letting the sun bathe her face. But her insides squirmed like snakes with barbed wire in their bellies, the thought writhing and tightening the sharp coils around them. Celebrían stayed there for a long time and she did not cry. But she wanted to.

The End

Followed by What is Love?

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